Desecrate Through Reverence
by byzantine satanist
Summary: She was born weak. Fragile. Female. Flameless. That's what they thought of her. It only made sense that she would hate them as much as she did. Rewritten version of 'Desecrate Through Reverence.' Fem!27. Warnings inside.
1. Prologue

**Summary:** She had only one goal set in her life after the pain, the misery, the neglect, the constant reminder that she will never be great because she's born female, born weak, born with no Flame…and hopefully, the goal will be their undoing and not hers. Rewrite of _'Desecrate Through Reverence.'_

 **Warning/s:** Major AU; Dark-ish!Fem! Tsuna; Unknown pairings/unknown endgame pairing; OOC

:X:

 **A/N: So, this is it, guys. The rewritten version of Desecrate Through Reverence that I made you guys wait for. I don't even know if you guys will be interested for the second try, but I guess I'll gain new readers, too, so that's…that's good.**

 **If you did wait, however, thank you! I appreciate that so much! Here's some virtual cookies and brownies, because I can't mail them to you guys! (Also, I suck at making them.)**

 **(Also it would be creepy to ask your home addresses.)**

 **So, here's the story. Hope you all love it! xx**

 _ **Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn!**_

 **:X:**

 **Prologue**

She stood on the edge of a cliff, idly sitting on a large boulder that was embedded onto the soil, moss and vines already wrapping themselves around it. She looked at her watch, a silver wristwatch made of mixed silver and armored steel, with golden hands against a black background. Underneath the face is a poisoned needle coated in a neurotoxin that can destroy a person from the inside out. It read ten past four, and she wondered when _he_ will be arriving.

She looked beyond the cliff, beneath it, even, and seeing nothing but a vast, vast space, a deep river with jagged rocks at the bottom, waiting for her to fall. A wrong move and she would plummet downward, finally meeting the sharp ridges that await her.

 _It's a lot like now,_ she thought to herself. Like…chess. One wrong move and she was dead. To win, she had to plan the previous hundred moves. Unfair, quite, but her plan had been set to motion, and one more move, one more _right_ move, and she _wins._

Her phone rang, the little ringtone echoing through the forest. It was a remote area beyond the gardens of the mansion. One has to pass through a myriads of scattered foliage and vegetation to even find it—the place that only she herself knows…well, her, and _him_ now _._

She smoothed her black pencil skirt, sweeping away imaginary creases and wrinkles. She always prided herself for being neat and poised nowadays, unlike when she was younger and much more reckless and held such things in disregard.

She answered the phone, tapping on the screen. "Good afternoon," she said in Italian, her voice smooth and cold, like the rumors say of her persona, and most especially of her heart. They were close. Just not entirely. Her heart wasn't cold.

Not entirely.

 _"Donna?"_ a voice spoke through the phone, a playful lilt on a deep baritone. _"The job is done."_

She couldn't help but quirk the corner of her lips upward, almost managing a smile. "Good," she replied, voice clipped. "And I suppose that you will be arriving shortly." It was not a questioning statement—she's expecting him. Has been expecting him since two in the afternoon when everything was set in motion.

 _"Of course,"_ the man replied, a purr to his tone. _"I cannot let such an alliance go, after all."_

She smiled at that; as the rumors say, it looked cold and empty. "Don't make me wait."

 _"Ah. But you have been, haven't you? You were always so eager—especially when you were much younger."_

"I suppose." She clicked her tongue. "Then don't make me wait any longer. They will be trying to reach me once they—" She stopped, already imagining the deed she has done. The phone might be tapped. _One wrong move and you're dead._ "Do not make me wait," she repeated instead.

 _"I wouldn't dare,"_ the man answered. _"I have, after all, tried to make my mission as fast as possible."_

"Good," she repeated. "Do not make me wait, or the alliance is off."

She hung up.

 **:X:**

 **End of Prologue**

 **:X:**

 **A/N: Okay, so I decided to start this rewrite with a prologue of…mysteriousness.** _ **Hopefully**_ **mysterious, of course.**

 **Btw: the chapters will be as long as I can manage, but the wait in-between will probably be the same. Sorry.**

 **Ask me stuff on my tumblr, though:**

byzantinesatanist . tumblr . com **(remove the spaces)**

 **I'll try to answer your questions with the best of my abilities.**

 **Also, review make me happy :3**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: In all honesty, the reports are just messy observations. I don't know why I wrote them in. I guess they just looked pretty cool and professional lol.**

Report on SAWADA TSUNAYOSHI, penned and updated by CEDEF External Adviser SAWADA IEMITSU

FILE 01027ST

Nationality **:** Japanese

Age **:** 13

Date of Birth: October 14, XXXX

Sex: Female

Civil Status: Single

Underground Status: Possible candidate for the position of VONGOLA DECIMO [see File 01072VX]

Flame Status: Sky

History: Daughter of SAWADA IEMITSU and SAWADA NANA, distant relative of VONGOLA NONO, TIMOTEO, no known Underground affiliations, school background of Namimori Prep, Namimori Elementary and Namimori Middle

Physical Description: Brown hair cut to the back of the neck, brown eyes unusually large for average Japanese female, small physique with thin limbs and small torso.

Character Description (based on firsthand viewing and hearsay from SAWADA NANA):

The subject is small, weak and clumsy; inept in majority of her classes, most noticeably Physical Education. The subject attends school with a clear failing average. The subject has no known friends or enemies, and no affiliation of any kind is known excluding her blood relation with SAWADA NANA [MOTHER, no file in Underground databases other than longstanding marriage with SAWADA IEMITSU on Vongola database].

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Sawada Tsunayoshi never stood out in a crowd. She had what equates to an average physique—brown hair chopped unevenly, brown eyes framed with long but not quite thick lashes, fair skin with a tinge of pink to her cheeks, and a petite stature that barely stood at five feet tall. She was quieter than a mouse and more unassuming than a fish.

Reborn never really thought that these attributes would make it so hard for him to identify her, and neither did he think that it would also be so easy to lose her even when he already tracked her. His eyes scan over the crowd of men, women and children, Leon perched on the brim of his hat doing the same. Perhaps he shouldn't have picked this day to observe her—it _is_ a Friday afternoon, and he should have expected the rush hour.

He looks through the crowd again, skimming over the men in line at the bus station, the young teenagers biking through the lane and the crowd brusquely walking ahead, paying no heed to their surroundings. He spots her reading a thin book, perched over her dainty hands as her eyelids drop down, lashes covering the color of her eyes. She sits on a bench beside a woman with a baby stroller, talking to someone on the phone.

It doesn't make sense, thinks Reborn. He's a professional hitman, the best in the world. He's tracked assassins, drug lords, criminals and dangerous mafiosi—tracking a girl barely in her thirteenth year shouldn't have been so hard to manage. And yet it was. Is.

Despite the fact that the girl can blend into crowds so easily because of how small and quiet she was, Reborn should have been able to spot her after one quick easy scan of the surrounding area.

And yet he didn't. _He had to double-check_. It is unbecoming of him.

He shifts on the branch where he hides, jumps down and maneuvers through the crowd, hiding behind the little shrub behind the bench, and he watches the girl skim over the little book. A manga, with garish colors on the front, Japanese writing on the back (as they view books, at least). She looks like an ordinary school girl, much like what her file suggested.

Reborn presses a hand to the yellow pacifier hanging around his neck, feeling the smooth surface of it under his palm. He closes his eyes. He opens them again, and nothing in particular happens.

Thirteen years old, a little weak, a little clumsy, a little too average. No (successful) experience whatsoever in any physical activity, no actual friends, and mostly keeps to herself. Her uniform is a little rumpled, but not from any strenuous activity or unfortunate harm—more like she couldn't bother looking neat and pristine, and settled instead for looking like she slept in her uniform.

Reborn is a little miffed. A girl like this can manage to evade him for this long.

Then Sawada Tsunayoshi closes her manga, the current page she had been reading dog-eared carefully. She places the book in her shoulder bag and stands from the bench, most likely heading home. On her face, clear as a bell, is a frown deeply marring her features.

Reborn has no doubt that she's thinking of what her mother had read from the little flyer Reborn had sneaked into their mailbox just that morning. A scam, Sawada Tsunayoshi had declared, except there was something a little off in her voice, like maybe she thought it wasn't a scam. Maybe it was something better, or worse—

He lost her again.

He scanned the crowd, only finding brown hair in a sea of more brown and blacks and blondes and reds.

 _Dammit._

:X:

She's home. Specifically, she's in her bedroom, typing away on her laptop with the air conditioning on and blankets covering her entirely from the neck and down. Reborn drops himself on the windowsill, observing the young girl as she browses through social media sites, stopping at one post before continuing to another.

Reborn quietly enters her room, barely making a sound. Only the tap of the keyboard keys can be heard, her eyes focused on the illuminated screen. The lights are on, so Reborn anticipates a little trouble, but he manages to enter the room, his small feet on the carpet, his whole body hidden behind the dresser beside Sawada Tsunayoshi's bed. Leon crawls inside his tiny jacket.

He observes her for a while longer. Her eyelids droop. She's sleepy.

"Ciaossu," he says.

Expectedly, she jumps.

Unexpectedly, she grabs a gun from underneath her pillow and automatically aims at him.

She blinks at him, confused, before lowering her gun. Cogs turn in her head as she stares at him, Reborn can almost see. It makes him feel just a bit conscious of his infant form despite inhabiting it for more than just a few years.

"Um," starts the girl as she clicks the safety of the gun back on, trying to discreetly place it back under her pillow, "hi? Are you lost? How did you even get in here?" The gun is back in its place, and she sheds the protective blanket away from her person, opting to move towards him.

"Not at all," Reborn says, words as smooth as an adult's despite the baby-like voice, eyes trained on her. She looks disturbed by that and her hand pointedly moves away from her body and near the hidden gun. Leon pokes his head out from his suit, and Tsuna stares at the little green chameleon. Reborn grabs her attention, saying, "Interesting weapon. Been using it a lot?"

"So you're not a baby," she says, narrowing her eyes. "The hell are you?"

"I'm Reborn." He doesn't expect her to know who he is, but—her eyes widen, and her jaw clenches slightly. Despite her petite frame, she had very rough edges, bordering on sharp. "You know me," he observes. Not personally, most like.

He's seen pictures of her, too—Iemitsu likes bragging about his daughter to the highest ranks of Vongola. The Ninth and his Guardians know about her, and Reborn does as well, being a close acquaintance. He would have known if Sawada Tsunayoshi was at a raid in Cambodia or an underground drug ring in Ibiza.

"I do," she says, tone clipped. "Who sent you?" Her hand moves quickly, and in under a second, the gun is aimed at him again, barrel locked between his eyes. The safety is off, too. Reborn admits to himself—she's fast for a thirteen-year-old.

"Your…" Reborn pauses. The Ninth isn't exactly her grandfather. "A distant relative of yours," he says instead. "Or more aptly, your predecessor."

"My _what?"_

"Long story short, you're going to be a mafia boss," Reborn says with a flourish, cocking his head as if waiting for a reaction. Dino had hyperventilated when he found out that he was going to be the Cavallone Boss, and he was fifteen years old at that time. He sputtered nonsense about how the mafia wasn't real and that everything was just a practical joke, but. No. It was real.

Reborn had held Leon, shaped into a gun, against his head to assure him that it was _very_ real.

He expected almost the same thing from Sawada Tsunayoshi, what with her being such an average girl living an undoubtedly civilian life—except, of course, she must have known about the mafia for quite some time. A gun wasn't exactly handed out all willy-nilly to a bunch of civilian minors, after all. It must have been obtained illegally.

But maybe he's reading the gun part wrong. Perhaps Iemitsu had left a gun here (the Lord knows how careless that idiot is) and his daughter had found it. He checks the gun model. Smith & Wesson 642. Really, it was a small revolver, with a short muzzle and small handle, only able to contain six rounds at most. Iemitsu prefers larger guns to small 'just-in-cases,' and even his smaller handguns are of fairly average sizes.

Iemitsu would never get himself a 642. Reborn's eyes narrowed. Maybe he got the girl a present. The idiot loves overcompensating. And he was an _idiot,_ enough to give his thirteen-year-old a daughter a _gun,_ of all things. Reborn stifles the exasperated sigh trying to escape his throat.

Tsunayoshi speaks after a full minute of silence. "Do you do that?"

Reborn purses his lips, a little caught off-guard. "Pardon?"

There is a click, and Tsunayoshi tucks the gun under her pillow. She faces him, saying, "You know, break into homes and tell thirteen-year-old girls that they're going to become mafia bosses?"

Reborn huffs, amused. The girl is giving him an under reaction, and while welcome (compared, after all, to the shrieking and the complains and the disbelief, all of which he would have to subdue if he wants to get anywhere), it's more than a little disturbing. "No," he says, playing along, "sometimes it's fifteen-year-old boys." Not quite a lie, he thinks amusedly.

Tsunayoshi doesn't smile, but Reborn thinks that she hasn't smiled in a long time, judging by the lack of laugh lines on her face. There's an amused glint to her eyes, though, and Reborn thinks that it's safe to proceed. "So, you know about the mafia," he starts.

"What makes you say that?"

"You weren't even surprised. You, an ordinary civilian living a fairly average life, are told that you're going to be the boss of the most dangerous Mafia family in the world, and you barely even flinch," Reborn states. "And you carry a gun. Small, yes, but on a thirteen-year-old? You've obtained it illegally. Or you stole it."

"What makes you say that?" Tsunayoshi repeats.

Reborn smiles a bit, and Tsunayoshi's eyes narrow. "Your father prefers bigger guns." He points to the pillow hiding the S&W. "That's a baby's toy to him. You got it somewhere. Illegal, most like."

"Maybe it's a gift."

Reborn's eyes narrow. "You have interesting friends, then."

She doesn't say anything, but she does huff in frustration. Reborn prides himself on reading people—body language, facial expressions, tone of voice—piece of cake. But Tsunayoshi is a _lack_ of a rampage of thoughts and emotions. It's hard to read her.

"That's why he never visited often then?" she says softly, and under that poker face, that tough exterior, Reborn detects a child.

"Yes."

Almost immediately, the child melts away. "Hm," she grunts. "Okay. So, what's this entire mafia business anyway?" She stops. "Were you the one who sent in the flyer?"

"No." Leon sticks a tongue out, and Tsuna notices. _Traitor,_ he thinks fondly.

 _"Right."_ She gives a sharp exhale. "Well, whatever. So, the mafia?"

Reborn cocks his head. "I would have thought that you already know a lot." She's taking to this more casually than Reborn had hoped. It screams suspicion and danger at him, but in all honesty, this girl isn't that much threatening—not when he's the one with a suit full of hidden weapons and an automated bug that connects to Vongola's main database and a chameleon that can transform into whatever weapon he desires.

 _Not when he's the strongest man in the world._

 _Even inside a baby's body._

"I have a gun, and _files_ on a laptop," she rebuts. "That's not the mafia. I guess it would be more as 'I know a lot about Vongola.' Those files really need to be better protected."

Reborn pauses. There's something burning in him, and he identifies it as frustration and anger. "What files?" he says icily.

"The ones on my father's laptop," she replies breezily. "I hacked into his files when I was seven, loaded it into one of the hard drives lying around the house, and transferred it to the laptop right there." She pauses to look at him, lip curling slightly. "Of course, you _can_ access it, if you have a specific skill set and a more specific set of software. My contact doesn't have any of those things. Not yet, at least."

"What are in those files, Tsunayoshi?"

Tsunayoshi blinks, as though dumbfounded. "You…" She pauses. "You didn't know any of that."

"Your hacking, you mean," states Reborn.

Tsunayoshi nods. "Exactly. I mean, Vongola _is_ the most powerful famiglia in the world. Surely you would have known if one of the closest relative of one of your elite members hacked into the system. Or if, you know, someone managed to breach through your defenses." Her eyes narrow. "Of course, my father has never been so observant before. Maybe the same principle goes for the organization he works for, no matter how much they brag about being the best."

Despite himself, Reborn bristles at the subtle insult. "So what you're trying to say," he starts, moving past the insult and into the matter at hand, "is that you know everything about Vongola."

"Not…not everything," she admits, almost sheepishly. "There's a lot of restricted files with more passwords. I suppose that no one's stupid enough to use your wife's name and birthday as the password for everything."

There's a long moment of trepidation between the two of them. Reborn observes the girl in front of him, only wearing a thin shirt and a pair of loose-fitting shorts, barely covered by the blanket. She's vulnerable, with only the little revolver in her bed to defend herself with. Her face is devoid of fear and unease.

She holds up well, almost like a young hitman, or an assassin. Reborn's mind flits to possible scenarios and events that lead up to this. Disturbing images appear. Leon tilts his head at him, and Reborn pets the top of his head with a finger out of habit.

Reborn blinks, and the images dissolve to the back of his mind. He can look into those scenarios later. For now, however, he has more pressing things to do.

"Well, then, Dame-Tsuna," Reborn starts, testing the girl's detestable childhood nickname. She closes her eyes slowly, and her jaw clenches in irritation. Reborn clucks his tongue in glee. _And so he finds a tick._ "Now that you know the basics, let's get started on your road to becoming a full-fledged mafioso."

:X:

He explains the basic stuff to her: lineage, genealogy, mafia in general. He 'answers' a few questions ("What does Vongola do?" "Lots.") and ignores the others ("Why are you a baby?""Your great-great-great grandfather created Vongola under the pretense of a vigilante group.").

She's easy to handle, truth be told—she was just curious. It's unnerving, really, because that's her primary reaction. _Curiosity._ She isn't the least bit stunned or traumatized, and even though Reborn insists that it's only because he's going to miss out on screwing with her mind, he really is disturbed by this turn of events.

Normal people would react rather strongly to the revelations Reborn had shared. With a thirteen-year-old, he expected a little more _screaming, shrieking, possible three-month coma and early onset dementia,_ as the Ninth had jokingly—and a bit worryingly, since Tsunayoshi _is_ Vongola's last hope—said, and a little less… _stoicism. Neutrality. Maturity._

 _Knowledge._

As far as Reborn was concerned, Sawada Tsunayoshi had lived a fairly average life. She had an average life with a single mother, an average house with average extravagance (or lack thereof, really), average grades at school—both academic and physical—and she occasionally works part-time at some antique shop every Saturday. Reborn had done a background check on the shop—still nothing that caught his eye, as it was merely a quaint antique shop that stood beside a Chinese noodle restaurant.

Reborn steps down from the roof and reenters the house through the bedroom window that Tsuna—the name the girl goes by—has left unlocked for his sake. Reborn carefully steps inside, gently closing the window. He hops off of the sill, his feet padded by the carpet of the room.

Tsuna is asleep on her bed, mouth partially open with strands of hair scattered around her face. Reborn takes comfort in the fact that she looks vulnerable, _human,_ _ **normal**_ _,_ like this. It didn't matter that her hand is tucked underneath her pillow, holding the gun firm in her hand—the childish look of relaxation on her face makes Reborn believe that she's a normal girl, who has probably just done a lot of research regarding the mafia. He glances at his watch, the face barely illuminated, what with the curtains drawn to keep the moonlight out.

He walks outside, shutting the door quietly on his way out, and he pads over to the end of the hall, far away from the girl's room.

Leon turns into a phone, and Reborn turns him on with a simple click of a key.

Iemitsu answers after two rings. "Reborn," the man say, voice distorted by the static. "I take it things are going well?"

Reborn does not particularly like Iemitsu. He respects the man for his skills and knowledge, especially how he manages his division in CEDEF. Respect, however, does not quite equate to fondness.

"No," Reborn replies icily to the man's question. But he stops. "Well, a bit, actually. Your daughter has readily accepted the role as the future Vongola Decimo. I expect that she be ready to take on the mantle when she turns sixteen. Possibly earlier."

"That's my girl," Iemitsu says, too prideful for Reborn's taste. He can hear the delight even through the static-y line, and it annoys him. "To be honest, I really expected her to go full-on terminator when the announcement arrives." He laughs, a sharp shock of static the made Reborn hold the phone away from his ear. "But she has my blood in her. She's gonna be great."

"Yes, very." Reborn presses Leon back to his ear. "To the rougher side of things, Iemitsu, if you please."

"I thought that things were going smoothly."

"I said 'a bit.' There's a lot of things that don't add up, Sawada," Reborn starts. "For starters, the file you sent me? Every single thing written on it is a big fucking lie. She doesn't have failing grades, she is not physically and socially inept, and she is not shy. Introverted and anti-social, maybe, but inept and shy aren't the right terms to use on her. Goddammit, Iemitsu, your daughter owns a _gun_ , which she sleeps with every night, if I'm not mistaken—"

"—a _gun?_ Reborn, what the f—"

"—and she has hacked into Vongola's main database," Reborn finishes. "She knows a lot about Vongola thanks to your stupid carelessness and your shitty passwords. You left your laptop unlocked and she managed to secure the files. Luckily enough, she didn't breach into every single one, if only because she couldn't."

"I last visited them when she was eight or something!" Iemitsu protests. "She couldn't have—"

"Maybe she was wondering why daddy kept on leaving," Reborn says icily. "Point is, Iemitsu, the operation would have been botched if your daughter took matters into her own hands and tried to sell the information to other mafia families. You know how many Japan has. It would have meant the end of your legacy."

"But it wasn't," Iemitsu says resolutely. Then he sighed. "Reborn, I apologize for my slight. I'll report what you said to the Ninth." He sounded much professional now, but Reborn still felt the prick of anger in his veins. "I'll look over her files. I'll even call Nana about Tsuna. For the meantime, you…" The man hesitated. "You just observe her. I'll allow information extraction. Just…I—" He sighed.

"You're a father, disregarding everything stupid about you." A shitty father, but a father nonetheless, Reborn would admit begrudgingly. "You don't want your daughter interrogated. I understand."

"Thank you." There was a static silence between them for a few seconds.

"Iemitsu," Reborn says.

"Hm?"

"The files," he says, "on Tsunayoshi. You wrote 'Sky' on the section regarding her Flames."

"Yeah, I did," Iemitsu says, confused. "Why? Does she have Sun instead? Or Storm?"

Reborn clenches his jaw. From the minute he saw her on that bus stop, the moment he allowed himself to get the slightest bit close to her person…

He touches the yellow pacifier hanging around his neck.

"Iemitsu," Reborn slowly says, "she has no Flame."

 **End of Chapter**

* * *

Report on SAWADA TSUNAYOSHI, penned and updated by freelance hitman under Vongola Nono's supervision, REBORN

FILE 01027ST

Nationality **:** Japanese

Age **:** 13

Date of Birth: October 14, XXXX

Sex: Female

Civil Status: Single

Underground Status: Official candidate for the position of VONGOLA DECIMO [see File 01072VX]

Flame Status: N/A

History: Daughter of SAWADA IEMITSU and SAWADA NANA, distant relative of VONGOLA NONO, TIMOTEO, possible Underground affiliations [unknown as of 18-09-XX], school background of Namimori Prep, Namimori Elementary, and Namimori Middle

Physical Description: Brown hair cut to the back of the neck, brown eyes unusually large for a Japanese female, small physique with thin limbs and small torso.

Character Description (based on firsthand experience):

Subject has limited understanding of artillery; owns a single Smith & Wesson 642, weapon fully functional and loaded; subject has knowledge of Vongola after breaching SAWADA IEMITSU's laptop with Vongola's main database logged in; specific knowledge currently unknown as of 18-09-XX; subject is a liar, skill rivaling an average hitman (appropriate interrogation/questioning is compulsory for proper character analysis); subject is well-versed in observer's camouflage and exit stratagems; complete history a propos to illegal knowledge regarding weaponry and the mafia obtained by a minor currently unknown; subject has average grades on all subject areas; no known acquaintances excluding relation with SAWADA NANA [mother, no file in Underground databases other than hidden longstanding marriage with SAWADA IEMITSU on Vongola database] and acquaintanceship with ANKO KAWAHIRA [employer at Kawahira Antiques, no file in Underground databases].

* * *

 **A/N: You guys wanna know a lil secret?**

 **Don't tell anyone**

 **But**

 **I**

 **Don't know how to make a report lol. :)**

 **P.S.: Reviews make me happy :3**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: These chapters aren't actually edited lol I'm sorry UwU**

 **:X:**

 **Chapter 2**

He opens the shop at around six in the morning, rearranging the trinkets on display and sorting through the boxes delivered to the shop. Tsunayoshi usually arrives at eight on a Saturday, and four in the afternoon on weekdays. She doesn't come by on Sundays, to her declared dismay, but Kawahira insists she spend time with her mother despite knowing how much she loathes her home.

He sorts through one of the more expensive boxes, an imported product from Puerto Rico. Chamomile, with _drugs_. It was something foreign and a bit intriguing. Humans will always find a way to surprise him. He puts the kettle over a fire and starts rifling through other papers.

A knock comes from the door, and he glances through the thin curtains that separate the shop from the storage room. Through the glass frame of the door, he sees that it is the mailman.

"Good morning," Kawahira greets when he is by the door.

"Morning to you, too," the mailman says and he gives Kawahira several envelopes. "I'll be off, then."

Kawahira waves goodbye, and he looks through the envelopes. Lots of them are boring bits and pieces of junk mail and spam, and the others contain information from several of his contractors. He sets it down on the counter and returns to the storage room. The water is already boiling, the kettle whistling.

He turns the stove off and puts some of the tea infusion into a teapot before adding the water. He lets it sit as he sorts through another box, seeing an ornate jewelry box, one filled with a ring settled comfortably on plush black velvet cushions. The La Furia family heirloom, he recognizes. He still remembers the day he killed the La Furia Secondo, as well as a few lackeys of the La Furia Settimo. He smiles at the memory and gathers the box into his hands carefully, moving to the front and putting the ring on the display case behind the counter.

He adjusts it to make it look presentable, and he steps back to admire the view, the ring's diamond gemstone glinting at even the dimmest light. The envelopes on the counter scatter to the floor suddenly, him not realizing he had bumped it with his hip.

He frowns as he gathers them in his hands. He looks at one of the envelopes, a brown manila envelope sealed with wax, with only the location to his shop, but no return address. Extracted information from the boy named ' _Fratello,'_ as he likes being called. The boy isn't even Italian. Just another American that has eighty-four percent American blood, 'sixteen percent Italian' blood, and, as Kawahira had observed, one hundred percent moron blood.

Nonetheless, he gathers information very well. Kawahira would hate to lose him, though he does have other useful contacts, if Fratello proves to be more trouble than he's worth.

He breaks the wax seal before opening the envelope. Inside is a single white sheet of paper, the information contained inside of it typewritten. Kawahira adjusts his glasses, and he begins to read.

 _An interesting discovery._ He did not quite expect Tsunayoshi's famiglia to make their move so soon. Nonetheless, it is a welcome surprise. It speeds her training process, though she was already remarkably fast at learning so long as it keeps her interest.

The bell rings. "Good morning, Kawahira-san," Tsunayoshi greets, dressed in a loose-fitting t-shirt and a pair of cargo pants that hang off of her. She enjoys clothing that do not fit her, though Kawahira _could_ understand why. He himself wears yukatas that fall loosely over his body. Unneeded, though comfortable. He replaces the sheet back into the envelope and sets it back on the counter with the others.

"Good morning as well, Tsunayoshi," he greets back. "In the back, please. A new shipment has just arrived."

Tsunayoshi makes a pinched look on her face, though only for a second. He had taught her to always make neutral expressions, but she has trouble doing such when around human beings whose presence she does not enjoy. And him. Alas, a human can only hide so much, and Tsunayoshi is not much used to the presence of others to perfect her neutrality.

He joins her in the back room, where she is already settling herself onto one of the few empty stools available. He sits across her and pours the tea into a small cup. Tsunayoshi stares down at the tea with apprehensive eyes as the cup was filled with it, nearly to the brim. Steam rose, and Kawahira set the teapot down on the table between them.

"Chamomile," he supplies, "from Puerto Rico."

"It's supposed to be special, how?" Tsunayoshi says and gets a whiff of the tea. She furrows her brows. "Is that… _marijuana?"_

Oh, yes; he made her try a rolled one back when she had been nine. "I really prefer the term cannabis," Kawahira replies. He pours himself his own cup of tea. "Marijuana sounds too much like a vulgar slang for something so wonderful. The cannabis was imported from Jamaica. It's fresh, too, if the seller from Puerto Rico is to be believed." He takes a sip, and he smiles. "Try it."

"You really shouldn't be encouraging a thirteen-year-old to do drugs," Tsunayoshi tells him, but takes a sip anyway. "That's…that's actually amazing."

"I am glad you enjoy it," he says. "A buyer has already contacted me about it. They'll be visiting on Tuesday at around two in the afternoon."

"They come from around here?"

"An old yakuza family," Kawahira says. He takes a sip, and they both settle into an easy silence. His mind, however, wanders back to the little paper of information, containing the fewest of words.

 _The Arcobaleno is in Japan._

 _For Vongola Decimo._

Kawahira knows, of course, that Vongola has kept the identity of their future Decimo safe and well-hidden, but are they doing a good job at that particular thing?

He looks to Tsunayoshi, who quietly sips at her cup, small hands that are so gentle against the porcelain. He knows for a fact that those very same hands can assemble and disassemble a gun in under a minute, and they have emitted one of the strongest Sky Flames he has seen. Those same hands have beaten a man to a pulp and strangled him bare. They have killed and maimed and caused pain, almost as much as any average hitman.

And they belong to a small thirteen-year-old coreless schoolgirl in a remote town in Japan.

Had Kawahira been human, he would never think twice about moving away from this girl. She was strong and powerful, and with enough time, she can even take on one of his Arcobaleno on a one-on-one battle, even at their full potential.

She has Flames despite having no core, though she does have something that's better than a core. She has blood. She has power.

And she is his to teach.

 _Was_ his to teach.

 _Are they doing a good job at keeping her safe?_

Vongola is only good at endangering the lives of others. He couldn't count just how many attempts there had been on Tsunayoshi's life. It has been like that for every single one of Vongola's heirs since Secondo took up the mantle. Kawahira blames Giotto's negligence, though he couldn't blame the man for wanting to move away from the family of blood and sin he was creating.

 _It's all his fault._ His mind imagines the young man with an angry face and even angrier scars.

"The Arcobaleno," Kawahira pipes up casually, watching as Tsunayoshi momentarily stiffens before resuming her drinking, "I heard he was in town."

"He's staying at my house," she informs. She seems jittery all of the sudden, as though she expects the Arcobaleno to appear out of nowhere. He could try, Kawahira thinks. The baby just might not get too far. "He wants—or maybe _needs_ —to train me."

"For your future, I assume?" Kawahira says. Mafia leaders always pay attention to the future and in turn sets up the present. An acquired habit, and very much effective. The future changes by the second, after all, and it would be beneficial that their future be theirs to manipulate. Wrong moves, however…

"I'm the Vongola Decimo." Tsunayoshi lowers the cup, setting it on the table. "Or the future Vongola Decimo. Anything you can say about that?" She was challenging him, most definitely. She knows how dangerous the position will be—is. Becoming any member of Vongola is dangerous. Becoming the boss even more so. He can become her enemy in a flash if the situation allows it. And he _has_ made it known that once the Arcobaleno comes and sweeps her away, he will leave her.

His use to her can only last for so long, after all. One day, he will leave and take on a different identity, or keep the same identity, but never making a move and letting the world dissolve into another timeline, another era. He will watch her grow, but he will not interfere.

He is to become a neutral party. It is a rather sad thing to think, and almost insensitive as well, but he cannot destroy the world just for a single girl. She may enjoy his presence every so often, but that doesn't mean that she lets her walls fall around her when he is by her.

Kawahira smiles and drinks the last of his tea. Tsunayoshi Sawada. The girl that has trust issues taller than Mount Fuji. He can't blame her—the attempts, the assassinations, the training she forced herself to go through…

Her father. Vongola. They were problems. Burdens she is forced to shoulder.

Maybe even Kawahira himself is a burden.

"Not much," he answers her question. He sets his own cup down, settling it on the table beside Tsunayoshi's own. "Only that…well, I'm sure you know what's going to happen next."

She levels him with a gaze, and nods slowly. "I'm not allowed to visit you, you're not allowed to visit me, and we're not allowed to talk to each other. You told me this when we first met."

"That I did."

"Until now, I never received a proper explanation." She furrows her brows, her lips quivering lightly. She's grown a bit attached, he notices. "Will I even get one?"

Kawahira gives her a smile, and to her it is mysterious and enigmatic, but to him, it's almost heartbreaking. She is the first human in three hundred years that Kawahira had allowed himself to know personally, to get attached to, because Fate decrees it, and he answers to Her alone.

Alas, Tsunayoshi's future is not with him, and his future not with hers.

They will both head to darker paths with different people, different beings. She will be a fine Donna, he can almost see it—a woman that her famiglia will love, though she will be the most dangerous boss to grace the Underworld. He looks forward to it. Maybe their paths will cross. Maybe.

Will she know how he knows this?

She looks at him, brown eyes blinking orange and gold. He hasn't seen that color up close in centuries.

Those eyes have been asking for _centuries_.

 _Why are you leaving me?_

 _Will I ever get an answer?_

He holds his hand out, settling it on Tsunayoshi's shoulder. His thumb travels to the exposed skin just above her collarbone, and an orange light pulses under the skin before it fades away.

Tsunayoshi looks at him expectedly.

 _Why are you leaving me?_

 _Will I ever get an answer?_

"Maybe," is what he says

:X:

It's natural for her to be worried.

Tsuna always feels uneasy no matter the situation. She may have been taught to hide her worry, but she was never taught to control it. She shifts in her seat, hands folded on the desk and breathing smooth and steady. She clears her face of any expression that would even suggest what she is thinking about and instead stares straight at the teacher in front of her, explaining the history of the Tokugawa shoguns.

Reborn is inside the school, she's certain. She can feel her nerves tingling in anticipation, making her fingers twitch in response. She settles for writing on a scrap piece of paper, subconsciously copying the writing on the blackboard despite her mind drifting elsewhere.

She could hear the footsteps of the visitor before the door even slams open.

The teacher abruptly pauses in her teaching, and murmurs fill the entire room as the visitor enters the room in a rough manner, ringed hands stuffed in pockets, sleeves shoddily pushed to the elbows, necktie undone, ears pierced …well, basically everything that breaches the school's guidelines regarding uniforms.

Tsuna can smell tobacco and gunpowder on him, wafting through the air circulating the room. The AC is turned a bit too high, its settings switched to swinging mode. She can hear its soft purr. Her hand briefly tightens on the pen before it casually resumes in writing.

The teacher glares at the newcomer and speaks. "Gokudera Hayato, I assume," she says gruffly. "Thank you for disrupting my class—"

"Don't mention it," the guy—Gokudera—retorts with snort. The class laughs. His voice is rough, and Tsuna can only assume that she was correct about the tobacco. The girls start swooning over him. The teacher gawks at him and Gokudera rolls his eyes. "Let me sit down so you can get on with your goddamn lesson."

The teacher looks affronted. "I will not tolerate such blatant disrespect—" she sputters.

"You will, because if not, we would learn jack," Gokudera snaps. "Now let me sit down." Tsuna admits—he's bold.

He's just a bit too reckless and too much of an attention-grabbing _jackass._

The teacher clearly doesn't want to admit that Gokudera is right, mouth already quivering with unspoken arguments. Tsuna continues writing. "Fine," the teacher finally says, anger evident in her voice. Tsuna glances at the new student. He looks smug. "Sit wherever you please."

The girls already start talking amongst each other, eyeing the new student like preying vultures, excitement and infatuation evident in their eyes. Tsuna sneaks a look at Gokudera. Fine; he's cute.

His body turns to her direction, and she gives a silent sigh. She's sure that Reborn sent this…hooligan to her. Or _after_ her. For what, she doesn't quite know. She's never seen Gokudera in any of the Vongola files she managed to hack into.

Gokudera walks through the aisle provided between the chairs, his gait slow, but he is clearly trying to evoke a threatening vibe. She can feel his gaze on her, though, only confirming the fact that he does, in fact, know her, and he is most likely sent by Reborn to trifle with her. She doesn't understand why he does these things. They seem so stupid.

But there's a lot of things she doesn't understand. Maybe it's not her place to try to understand. Maybe it's just her place to know what's right and wrong. Maybe Kawahira leaving her was right, even if she doesn't why he had to.

She continues writing. _Vongola will be after him if he stays, and question_ will _be asked, both to him and to me. I'm ready to be alone. I can continue without him. I just have to trust my instincts._ That's what he told her before he left last Saturday, at least.

 _Trust my instincts._ Somehow, her instincts never failed her. Kawahira had called it 'Hyper Intuition.'

She sees Gokudera's hand reaching for the underside of her desk just as he is passing by her, and she grabs his wrist in response. He jerks, surprised at her action. She schools her face into one devoid of any emotion.

"Don't," she says, and she lets go of his wrist and returns to her writing as though nothing happened. To the entire classroom, nothing did. To Gokudera, something did—she just prevented him from flipping her desk over.

She almost snorts in contempt. Who flips someone's desk over? Was it to show dominance and superiority? _Fucking mafiosi._ A memory blooms in her head, of the smell of chloroform and the sound of gunshots and the taste of blood pooling on her tongue. It dissolves in bright orange flames.

Her nerves tingle, again in anticipation. Something's going to happen, and that something involves her and Gokudera. For what, she intends to find out.

In the meantime, she'll settle for Gokudera sitting behind her, staring holes at the back of her head.

At least he's not attempting anything.

:X:

"I challenge you to a fight for the position of Vongola Decimo."

Tsuna doesn't make a move to acknowledge the statement, instead arranging her books in her bag before slinging it over her shoulders. Everybody else already left the room a few minutes ago, leaving her alone with this maniac.

"Didn't you hear me?" he repeats, barely-contained anger lacing his words. Tsuna, for the life of her, doesn't know why he's so angry all the damn time.

Tsuna turns to face him. His face is stern, mouth set to a scowl. His silver hair shines and frames green eyes that look at her with disdain. He really is handsome—it's a shame that the dislike is mutual.

"I heard it pretty well," Tsuna replies as she easily strides past him. They stay very still at that moment, bodies facing the opposite direction despite being side-by-side. She smells cyanide on him. "I just don't accept. Thank you for the offer, Gokudera-san."

She leaves the room with the feeling of eyes boring into her. She needs to find Reborn. She would really enjoy an explanation of sorts. Majority of the students are already heading to the cafeteria for lunch, the loud rumble of chattering voices and shoes skidding against the tiled corridor ringing in her ears.

She looks back one more time, and sees that Gokudera is still staring—no, _glaring_ —at her. She turns away and walks opposite the direction of the other students.

She didn't expect him to challenge her. She didn't expect _anyone_ to challenge her. Tsuna's pretty fucking sure that the position of Vongola Decimo is exclusively entitled for anyone that has a relation to Vongola's blood family, and she was _sure_ that after the death of Vongola Nono's three sons, she's the _last_ thing they have to a legitimate candidate.

She feels her lips twitch into a scowl before she realizes what she probably looks like—angry. She's angry, with her jaw set and teeth clenched and cheeks flushed. She takes a deep breath and reigns in her anger and schools her face back into a neutral expression. She can let herself be as angry as she wants when she's in a more secluded area, but for now…

She heads for the school rooftop, a place that she never usually dares to go to due to the school prefect, who commonly scans the area during his hourly patrols. Despite her admittedly impressive physical prowess, Tsuna didn't fancy fighting the alleged Demon of Namimori. Kawahira mentioned, once, that it would be a good experience if she initiated a fight, but she never actually did.

Maybe today's the day.

Hopefully not.

The Demon of Namimori was a _demon._

She doesn't want to fight a psychopathic sadist, and a possible psychopathic bomber, on the same day and at the same time. If it happens, though, she can only hope that their anger turn on each other and she can get through the whole ordeal safe while they battle for their ever-so-fragile masculinity and insatiable bloodlust.

At the very least, it's lunch time, so the patrols would focus more heavily on the more restricted area of the school where the stoners and junkies regularly frequent. She mentally nods to herself before heading to the rooftop, making sure to avoid any of the school prefect's goons on the way.

In the corner of her eyes, she sees silver catch in the sunlight.

She navigates her way around the prefects on patrol, careful on not being seen. Her feet tread lightly, footsteps soundless. She feels Gokudera's presence behind her, company that she would really rather not have at the moment, but she does suppose that she could figure out his actual intentions once she talks to Reborn about this particular arrangement.

 _That doesn't mean I enjoy it,_ she thinks to herself. She reaches a narrow staircase, leading to a tall metal door with a rusty latch, which she tugs on. It creaks very loudly, abruptly pausing every now and then due to the rust already accumulated on the hinges.

Before she opens the door, she pauses and turns around. She's not surprised to see Gokudera already there, standing with his hands in his pockets and spine slouched. On his lips is a cigarette, smoke curling from the lit end. _The very effigy of rebelliousness,_ Tsuna thinks, resisting the urge to shove the cigarette to the back of Gokudera's throat until all he can taste is ashes and fire and smoke.

Maybe next time.

She makes a sound of dissatisfaction before pushing against the metal door and finally entering the rooftop. Gokudera only looks at her, eyes blazing with a hidden type of anger and frustration. She really wonders what the fuck his problem with her was.

It can't just be about the position, can it? She owns the damn title, she owns the damn position, and she is going to become Vongola Decimo because there is literally no other choice.

Why is he holding that against her?

She walks to the center of the rooftop, wind making her hair and clothes ruffle against it, before she turns to face him, expression cold. They stand opposite each other, eyes locked in a staring contest. She can't say she doesn't enjoy a bit of flair every now and then, and this very moment calls for the dramatics.

But that's not what she wants. Not now. She never actually wants the drama to unfold. She's still worrying about what she's supposed to do with Reborn's arrival.

Right now, what she wants is to know what the _hell_ Gokudera wants from her.

He speaks first, to her surprise. "I assume you accept my challenge," he starts, and his stance turns a tad bit too aggressive. "Reborn told me that if _I_ defeat _you_ —" His hands start moving, and the sticks of dynamite are up in the air before Tsuna can even comprehend his words "— _I_ become Vongola Decimo!"

Tsuna jumps away just as the bombs exploded, her back hitting the surrounding fence, causing it to rattle against the railings. She watches as Gokudera takes out twice the amount of bombs from various parts of his clothing. _How does he hide that many bombs?_

"What are you doing?!" Tsuna yells in anger.

"Defeating you," Gokudera replies, and he lights up his bombs. _"Double bomb!"_

He yells it like he's in a manga. What the fuck.

 _Shit,_ Tsuna thinks, and she moves away as Gokudera hurdles the bombs her way. She manages to do a back flip and a handstand before landing neatly on her feet, though her back hit the fence that didn't have railings. It shook dangerously when she hit it. She looks down, already seeing several students enjoying their lunch and chatting animatedly with their friends as she's up here, trying to barter with a pyromaniac.

"Hold still!" Gokudera says, frustrated.

"That would mean no challenge," Tsuna says flatly, "and that would defeat the point of this idiocy."

Gokudera's nostrils flare. "Why, you—"

"Continue with your attacks, Gokudera," a squeaky voice suddenly says, the fence behind Tsuna rattling along with it. She looks up, and can barely hide her dismay when she finds the baby balanced on top of the fence like a movie-goer in a cinema. "And exert a little more effort, Dame-Tsuna."

Tsuna grits her teeth then, and she carefully watches Gokudera as he takes out even more bombs. _What the fuck. Where does he hide those things?_

She looks at Reborn, trying to hide just how frustrated she was with the whole ordeal. "You sent him to me," she says. "You told him that if I die, he could become Vongola Decimo."

"That I did."

"Why lie to him?" she demands. Gokudera is lighting the fuses of the bombs, surely and quickly, but there are beads of sweat on the base of his neck, and an expression that's so unsure that Tsun fears that he barely know what he's doing anymore. "That position is fixated to me, and if I die, it goes to the next in line. I am not related to this boy!"

"You say 'boy' as if he's younger than you by decades," is what Reborn says in lieu of a proper reply. A tick appears on Tsuna's forehead. "Pay attention to the opponent, Dame-Tsuna."

Tsuna glances back at Gokudera just as one of the bombs between his fingers falls. He panics, and more dynamite sticks follow.

"Shit," Tsuna says.

And that's the only thing she comprehended before a bullet went through her brain.

And then there was only _painpainpainpainPAINPAINPAIN—_

 **End of Chapter**

 **:X:**

 **A/N: Does that count as a cliffhanger? I guess to new readers it is but eh.**

 **(I feel greedy asking for reviews sometimes because I know that it's faves and alerts that matter (to me, at least), but I really like seeing written comments and critiques and compliments lol)**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: You guys know what I consider an achievement? If a fanfic is featured on TvTropes. Even if it's a badfic, it's like "wow you're on TvTropes omg how?"**

 **:X:**

 **Chapter 3**

She doesn't remember much of what had happened, but the next thing she knows, she's waking in the hospital, the smell of disinfectant wafting through the air and a bitter taste in her dry mouth. She can't move properly, only managing a twitch to her fingers and a subtle crane of her head.

"Re—born," she says weakly.

"Tsunayoshi." Someone is at her side, and she darts her eyes to Reborn who, despite garnering the face an infant and a squeaky voice, looks much more serious than anyone Tsuna has ever known in her life. It's a disconcerting imagery.

"W-wa—ter," she gasps out, and a glass of cold water is gently placed to her lips.

"Don't move," Reborn advises, and he places the glass of water back to the bedside table. "You're in near critical condition," he begins, "with extreme fatigue and exhaustion, though the doctors don't know what caused this." He looks at her. The dim hospital light glints off of his pitch black eyes. He almost looks intimidating like this, towering over her as she lies prone and vulnerable of sterile sheets. "If I was honest with you, Tsunayoshi, I don't know what had caused this either."

Tsuna sees black spots in her eyes, and she gives a choked noise at the back of her throat.

"You should rest," Reborn says, and Tsuna closes her eyes.

:X:

Reborn replays the moment in his head.

He shot a Dying Will bullet directly into Tsunayoshi's forehead. There is no doubt about that.

And then she just _screamed._ In pain, in agony, and orange flames ignited on her skin, coming and going like flickering fairy lights. She dropped to the ground and continued screaming as the flames ate away at her clothes and hair. Gokudera had dropped most of his dynamite sticks in shock, and possibly in fear or anxiety.

Luckily enough for the three of them, Reborn quickly dispelled the fuses of the dynamite. Unluckily for Tsunayoshi in particular, Reborn didn't know what the hell was happening to her. Despite having no Flames, the bullet should have triggered a heavy production of adrenalin in Tsuna's system. She wasn't supposed to…to…

But she _has_ Flames. Reborn's _seen_ them with his own eyes.

She doesn't have a Flame _Core,_ and that's where Reborn hits an impasse. The girl has Flames, but she has no Core. There are no reasonable explanations in regards to that—there has never been a case like Tsuna's in the history of the Mafia.

His eyes stay on the girl on the hospital bed, eyes closed, lips parted, and previously long hair shortened to a pixie cut by the flames, and even more so when Shamal tried to fix it. There are tubes and wires attached to her arms and chest, a cannula fixed on her nose, and a bandage wrapped around her head. Her heart beats steadily even after the sudden fluctuation when she had awoken this morning. She's been comatose for three days, missing school and worrying her mother. The woman had left at the break of dawn, trusting Reborn with her daughter.

The thought of Nana Sawada actually makes Reborn fume. He doesn't know much about relationships between mothers and daughters, but he had expected the woman to be much more distraught than what she had been expressing during her daughter's admittance to the hospital and to be more wary of Reborn, the one who got her into this mess. It was only fortunate that her air-headedness allows him to observe Tsunayoshi much closer.

 _Christ_ , she looks so vulnerable. She is so unlike the cold girl aiming a gun at his forehead a few nights ago—she looks like one of those young girls Reborn would see during his missions in red light districts and drug cartels, lost and alone and scared shitless.

The door opens, and Reborn almost grabs at Leon, the tiny chameleon already stiffening in anticipation, ready to turn into a gun.

It's Gokudera Hayato. Reborn relaxes, though only a bit. He bids the young teen to enter, and he does, but not before giving a respectful bow. "Reborn-san," he mumbles in acknowledgement, and he awkwardly shuffles closer to Tsunayoshi's bed, occupying the seat opposite Reborn's.

"Gokudera." The hitman looks back at Tsunayoshi. "She's more or less stable, though she had been in critical condition when she arrived. Vital signs are normal, but her physical health is mostly compromised. Oddly enough, despite bursting into Flames three days ago, she has no burns in her body, just signs of extreme fatigue. Odder still, she doesn't actually have a Core." Reborn waits for a reply, but Gokudera stays silent. Reborn looks at him, and he sees the young teen's eyes, wide with shock. "Any deductions?"

Gokudera shakes his head. "None," he says. "I'm not sure that there's ever been a recorded case like that in the history of the Mafia."

"Exactly what I thought," Reborn agrees. He leans forward. "Call Shamal."

Gokudera snaps his head up in surprise. "The—he—" he starts, already turning red—in anger, or embarrassment, or frustration, Reborn isn't sure. _"Him?"_

"Yes, him." Reborn leans back. "This is a new case. The best doctor in the Underworld will want to know what's happening to her. Especially since she's the heir to Vongola."

There's a terse silence afterward. Reborn knows that Gokudera has strained relationship with his family and any of his family's connections, but Shamal is undoubtedly a genius in the medical field—as chagrined as he is to admit such a thing. He also knows that he _could_ do this himself, with the right equipment of course, but…

Quite frankly, he wants to know if Gokudera will do as he's commanded.

But he could always find another Storm Guardian for Tsunayoshi.

"The Vongola Decimo," Gokudera says instead of answering him, "it's a fixed position. I heard her say it—she's the heir, she's the Decimo, and only the next line on the family tree can proceed her. I…" He swallows. "I never had a chance, did I?"

Reborn watches him for a moment. "Did you really think that you ever had a chance?" he says with an amused huff. The inheritance cycle of most famiglias have been the same for centuries, and Vongola isn't an exception. It's always the next of kin, never the random bastard that challenged the heir to a duel and won.

Gokudera's lips curl bitterly. "Not really. No." Reborn can almost imagine the bile creeping up his throat. It was unfair of him to play the child, but Gokudera and Tsuna had to acquaint themselves with each other somehow. After all, he was sure that a normal interaction between a gun-wielding middle-schooler and a pyromaniac bastard wouldn't end well, even with his supervision.

It was a rather damaging experience to his pride. He knows how to calculate the most possible outcomes of a fight, and yet with this one—Tsuna's non-existent core—he _hadn't._

He may analyze many scenarios, but then again, he was never a careful man.

Reborn speaks. "Do you plan on challenging her again once she's discharged?" It's a possibility—truthfully, Reborn had planned on letting Gokudera use a move that he has not yet perfected. When the fuck-up becomes clear to all parties involved, Reborn shoots Tsuna with the Dying Will bullet, save Gokudera, and therefore gain the teen's loyalty due to her selflessness (at face value, at least). Tsuna wasn't the naïve yet noble peacemaker Reborn was hoping to find, but she wouldn't actually condone deaths that she could have stopped.

But, well, none of those things happened. Reborn will have to restart from scratch.

Gokudera gives a half-hearted shrug, and he resolutely avoids looking at Tsuna. "I don't know," he huffs. "Maybe I'll go back to Italy. There's really nothing for me here, now is there?" He gives a sigh, slumping into his seat.

Reborn fixes his gaze on him. "There is, actually," he says carefully, watching as Gokudera raises an eyebrow, subtly straightening in his seat. Reborn leans forward.

 _I need someone to watch her for me,_ Reborn thinks. He doesn't know who or what Tsunayoshi Sawada is, that's obvious. His files from Iemitsu are severely outdated, her own mother barely knows anything about her daughter despite caring for her for thirteen years and counting, and any observation Reborn has made about her is only based on the two days he knew her until he got her in the hospital.

She knows about the Mafia. She knows about Vongola. She most definitely holds a deep disregard (or a possible dislike) for her father. She has a _gun,_ for Christ's sake. She's young, she's not stupid, and Reborn can already taste the potential she has.

But Tsunayoshi Sawada can be a very dangerous adversary given the right circumstances.

He'll need a bug.

Maybe a dog.

Reborn turns to Gokudera, who's anticipating the hitman's next words.

"Are you aware of Vongola Guardians, Gokudera?"

:X:

"Who the hell are you?"

The doctor, a tall thick man with a stubble and dark hair, clutches at his bleeding nose. Tsuna is sitting up and flexing her right hand. She feels a light throb of pain from punching the man in the face.

"I'm your doctor," the man clarifies, still holding his nose.

Tsuna narrows her eyes. "Doctors don't grope underage patients." At that moment, the door to the room swings open, and in comes Reborn, the default shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "You sent him, didn't you?" she says to Reborn. "Every person you've sent me so far are all useless."

Reborn is on the verge on protesting. The 'doctor' actually has the gall to do so. "Excuse me, but this useless person you claim that I am is actually _the_ best doctor in the Mafia," the doctor says. "It's not even nice to grope you anyway. You're way too young to develop proper secondary reproductive organs."

"I'm _thirteen,"_ Tsuna stresses, almost offended. She turns to Reborn once again. "Is he serious? He's the _best?_ The Underworld must be filled with subpar professionals. Though that's not much of a surprise. And he's a pervert on top of that?"

"A mild inconvenience. Tsuna, meet Doctor Shamal—or as he's known, Trident Shamal. _Why,_ you'll find out soon enough," Reborn easily says. "Besides, you have a mystery that needs to be solved."

Tsuna clicks her teeth in annoyance, and yet she's thinking of what had transpired three days ago on the rooftop. As of now, she's not feeling ill, which makes for an astounding and miraculous recovery given that she only had five days to heal, but she remembers the feeling of being burned alive for hours and hours and not even on the brink of unconsciousness or death. She remembers the bullet, the painful and sudden jolt of pain as the bullet shot through the skin of her forehead and then grazed her skull.

After that, she doesn't remember much. It's either she forgot what happened next, or she fainted after the whole ordeal. In fact, she doesn't even remember what was happening _during_ the torturous burning—she couldn't have had her Flames exposed, did she?

She feels sick in the stomach, suddenly. She smelled chloroform and rust.

Tsuna schools her expression into one of mild annoyance with a hint of curiosity. "What happened, exactly?"

"You have no Core," the doctor—Shamal—says. He grabs a tissue from her bedside table and mops up the blood under his nose and dripping down his chin, and he holds it there as he explains. Tsuna's surprised that he actually seems professional. "I was called in two days ago, and with consent from your mother, I opened your brain."

Tsuna wants to puke. She settles for twitching her eye. "You _what?"_

"Technically, I opened your skull." The tissue is already splotched with blood. Shamal throws it in a bin. The bleeding has stopped, but he gets another tissue to clean up the residue. "And then I examined your brain. It was a harmless procedure."

"Is that why my hair's shorn off?" Tsuna says. She touched the short clumps of hair on her head. At the very least, the cut's even. She can feel the soft bump of the scar where Shamal had cut into her skull, expertly sutured. She can't see it, so she doesn't know if she can even hide this from her schoolmates. _Who cares what they think anyway?_

Well, Tsuna would care, because _she has a fucking scar on her damned shaved head._

"The thread will be removed once the scar heals over time," assures Shamal. "It's not even obvious, so you can hide it easily."

Tsuna clenches a fist. Shamal sees the movement and backs away from her. "Anyway," he continues warily, "I didn't find a core in your brain. It's supposed to be a small tiny sac right next to your pituitary gland. But guess what—you don't have it."

Tsuna blinks in reply. Reborn cuts in. "You're supposed to have one. I saw it myself—you have Flames, albeit unstable Flames. But the problem is that we can't find the source of your Flames."

"The core," Tsuna says, and Reborn nods in confirmation. "Maybe you were seeing things."

Reborn's eyes glint. "Gokudera saw them, too." He hops onto her bed. "Sawada Tsunayoshi, you are officially a medical mystery. Shamal will be staying longer to observe you."

"Observe me?" Tsuna is slightly miffed. "What am I, a lab rat?"

"Medical mystery," corrects Reborn. "Hold your hand out for me." Tsuna hesitates for a moment before she holds her right hand out, palm facing up. "Try to concentrate. You're going to feel something warm, and it just gets warmer and warmer—but it won't burn you. Think of it as steam, or sweat, and you're just aching to release it."

 _It feels better than that,_ Tsuna thinks. _You feel like you're letting go of a heavy burden and watching it burst into bright flames, and you can feel your heart pump in excitement as it burns on your skin._ She puts on a show to make her efforts look convincing. Nothing happens, of course, and both Reborn and Shamal look disappointed. Reborn hops off of her bed.

"You should rest," Shamal says. "You're okay now, but the doctors in this hospital want to keep you here for two more days just in case."

Tsuna gives a small huff of resignation as the two of them leave the room. "At least bring me something to eat."

:X:

The doctors release her a day early after a series of physical tests to make sure she wasn't on the verge of passing out. Nana prepared a lot of food for her homecoming 'party,' even though the only ones who are actually there is Nana herself, Tsuna and Reborn. Tsuna appreciates the sushi and mochi anyway, and she climbs up back to her room with a plate of sashimi balanced on one hand and a package of mochi on the other.

Reborn follows closely behind, watching her with dark eyes. "You should be more grateful for your mother," he tells her as she settles herself on the bed, already opening her laptop and logging into her Facebook.

Tsuna looks at him. "Tell me that when you've walked in my shoes," she says coldly. She can see the way Reborn stiffens at her tone momentarily, but she doesn't dwell on it too much.

It isn't as though she had an immense hatred for her mother, but she has to admit—to herself, at least—that she's always been bitter because of the woman's constant neglect of her when she was younger. Even now, actually, now that she thinks about it. Her hospital room for the past few days had been devoid of Nana, and she wasn't even there when Tsuna was finally discharged. It's not something someone could forgive so easily just because Nana got her a few pieces of Tsuna's favorite mochi.

She always heard that a mother's love is unconditional. When she was younger, she thought she didn't even have a mother. Just that woman in her house who feeds her and buys her things.

"You don't want your grudges to control you, Tsunayoshi," Reborn says, surprising Tsuna and cutting off her train of thoughts. "It's not good to let your anger get the best of you."

"I'm not angry," she says immediately, and Reborn narrows his eyes. "I'm bitter. There's a difference."

:X:

During her week of absence, she had been the talk of the entire school.

It's a fact that is made apparent when she first steps into the school, one hand holding the door open. The entire corridor goes silent just as her head peeks in. The first thought that goes to her head is that she's wearing the school uniform—the navy blue sweater vest, the dark grey skirt, the red bow, the white blouse, the knee-high socks and the flat black shoes.

It's her hair that caught their attention, most likely. Japan is a quirky country, and they loathe seeing a girl's cute school uniform being paired with a boyish pixie cut rather than a short bob like her mother's or a neat neck-length like Sasagawa Kyoko's.

But then the students are murmuring and muttering, their eyes boring into her like she was some specimen in a laboratory that had yielded unexpected results.

Being the center of attention never ended well for Tsuna. It's usually why she adopted the silent-and-passive personality. Except she also adopted the take-no-shit personality, which usually ends in a silent fight between her and her opponent. Unfortunately, her opponents seem to be the student body, and yet none of them are doing anything more than gawking at Tsuna like a spectator in a zoo and murmuring to their friends about some rumor they heard about Tsuna.

Well. They're certainly not talking about her hair.

It's an uncomfortable experience. She's almost glad when Gokudera approaches her. He wears that devil-may-care attitude once again with the slouch in his posture, the blatant disregard for uniform protocols, and the lingering smell of tobacco in his breath.

"C'mon," he grunts, and Tsuna furrows her eyebrows.

"What—"

Gokudera's hand clamps down on her arm, and she's dragged along without an answer to her incomplete question. They head to Homeroom, and Gokudera doesn't look very keen on talking to her. Or just talking, period.

On the way, students stare at them as they pass by, and won't this little episode just garner even more rumors? Speaking of which, she doesn't even know what the first batch of rumors were about—the ones prior to Gokudera's sudden fondness for death-gripping her wrist.

They reach the room, and Gokudera forces her to sit with him at the back as more student pile inside the room. Tsuna grits her teeth when she smells the abhorrent stench of cologne that Gokudera used to cover up the smell of tobacco. The end result is the two mixing together in a very cacophonic way. It smells fucking disgusting.

Her head starts throbbing when the chatters reach her louder than usual. There's a ringing in her ears. She grits her teeth, takes a breather. "Why did you do that?" Tsuna says after, to Gokudera, who lounges in his seat with his legs propped up in front of him and his chair leaning back. Tsuna wants to push it just to see him flail and fall.

"Saving you from the mortification that you were clearly feeling," he replies smoothly, and Tsuna's a bit thrown at the answer.

Nonetheless, she schools her expression. Neutrality is key, and neutrality will make Gokudera's head explode, hopefully. "Did you really?" she says, calm. "Or did you just want rumors of us going around?"

"I—" Gokudera starts, and he flails for a moment when his chair loses balance. Tsuna hides a smile. "What the fuck are you going on about?" he says hotly. There's a light dusting of pink on his cheeks, and Tsuna is vaguely reminded that this guy has seen her naked.

Oh, _fuck_. She feels a little hot in the face. She passes it off with a shrug. "Well, I can see that you really want my attention," she drawls. "Anger, challenges, rumors…easiest way to get attention, right? My attention, to be more specific."

Gokudera sputters. "I only did this for Reborn," he insists.

Tsuna raises an eyebrow. "You have a crush on a _baby?"_

"Yes," Gokudera says, "wait, no. No!"

Tsuna rolls her eyes. Admittedly, it's fun to tease the guy. "Right," she says, just to get the final word in.

Gokudera sputters and curses at her, but their Homeroom teacher enters the room and asks everyone to be silent. The man momentarily glances at Tsuna's direction, and Tsuna tries to pretend that she didn't notice it, or that it felt like a discomforting itch on her skin.

A few minutes in, a crumpled piece of paper lands on her desk. She glances at Gokudera beside her, who is feigning sleep. She unfurls it.

 _I want to prove myself. I'm just the bastard of a don. I need the attention to know that I'm worth something.  
And it's not like __**you**_ _need to prove anything._

Tsuna really can't help but roll her eyes, and she whips out a pen and writes on the back of the paper.

 _You're right. I don't need to prove anything, because I simply don't care.  
Why waste my time on people who don't care either?_

She crumples it between her fingers and throws it back on Gokudera's desk before turning her head to the window where the shadows under the trees grow brighter as the sun burns hotter.

She likes to think that her words will affect him.

 **End of Chapter**

 **:X:**


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Yamamoto wonders whether this was a good idea or not.

He cranes his head to look behind him, and his schoolmates' faces are all frozen in shock and horror. He looks at them— _really_ looks at them—and he realizes that none of them actually knew him.

They never knew that Yamamoto's only solace is his father and their sushi shop. They never knew that Yamamoto plasters a grin on his face everyday just so no one calls him a buzzkill, so no one calls him out on being sad and depressed and two-faced. They never knew that he doesn't even want the attention. They never knew that baseball is literally the only thing in his life that actually makes him happy—and now…

He exerted effort on baseball. He tried to appease the baseball gods, whoever the hell they are or if they even exist. He gets a broken arm for his trouble, and that fact is distressing and disheartening.

He looks at his arm, the one in a cast and a sling, and to his other arm, the one holding the railing to the school roof as he dangles off the edge, and then to the students behind him, their muscles tense in anticipation. He's just gonna be a memory to them, he thinks. Just a sad memory, some wistful dream, a sudden jolt to the past when they're all grown up with a family of their own. They'll feel sad, maybe even guilty, but they won't truly care. Not really.

He jumps, and they scream.

:X:

"What the fuck were you thinking, you stupid piece of shit?!" Gokudera yells.

"That's just excessive." Tsuna grunts from underneath this…thing. She's almost sure that Reborn hired some random guy to drop from the school roof to land on top of her. Except, of course, for the fact that it's lunch time, and Reborn doesn't like to operate when he wants to eat. "If anything," she says as she pushes whoever just landed on her into the pavement beside her, "I should be the one cursing."

Her sides are throbbing, she's a little out of breath, her head hurts like hell, and there's a thought in her head that tells her that she really doesn't want to go back to a hospital.

The guy who fell on her groans, and he rolls on his back while cradling an arm that is wrapped in a cast and a sling. Blue eyes, dark hair. Really tall and very built.

Of course.

Yamamoto Takeshi looks at her. "Sawada?" he says, disbelieving. Gokudera takes her by her hand and pulls her to her feet. "I heard you were dead!" he blurts out, and Tsuna and Gokudera looks at him flatly.

"And you're not," Tsuna says lightly. Yamamoto turns red in the face. At least he looks ashamed. "Consider yourself lucky."

Yamamoto sits up and gives a short groan of pain before looking upward. Tsuna hears the faintest roar of voices that sounded like fright. Maybe there was a riot she hadn't known about.

"What were you doing?" Tsuna brusquely questions.

Yamamoto freezes at the question, before giving a nervous cough followed by an equally nervous laughter. "I just fell," he explains. "It's an accident. I was screwing around with my friends. It was really lucky that you were here."

Tsuna looks at him weirdly, and she narrows her eyes. "All right," she says, not believing a single word he is saying. She walks, and the sudden jolt of pain in her side surprises her.

"Sawada?" Gokudera approaches her with something akin to concern in his eyes.

"I don't want to be chained down to a hospital again," she says roughly. "Take me to the clinic. I'm pretty sure this idiot's fall did something to my insides."

Yamamoto's face scrunches up in guilt. "If it means anything at all, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to land on you," he apologizes.

"Well, you're alive, at least." Tsuna nudges Gokudera. "Clinic. Now."

"Bossy bitch," he grumbles and rolls his eyes, but he obliges her nonetheless. He wraps an arm around her shoulders for support and they steadily walk to the school doors.

"You must really enjoy dirty talk," Tsuna comments.

"Suck a cock."

"Thanks, but no."

As they banter, Tsuna suddenly realizes that Yamamoto is watching them walk away, and despite herself, she feels herself go hot. It's only a sudden realization, but this is the first time that Yamamoto Takeshi has ever paid any attention to Sawada Tsunayoshi. She's had the briefest crush on him when they were both in elementary, but Tsuna had known even then that Yamamoto would never return her affections.

They had actually ignored each other's existence for years, and Yamamoto probably never knew she existed if not from the rumors he's heard about her. And they never would have spoken at all if Gokudera hadn't been hounding her and annoying the shit out of her since first period.

And why did Yamamoto fall from the roof anyhow? His story couldn't have been legitimate—no one would be stupid enough to fall from the rooftop. It was a wide and open place surrounded by an aluminum steel fence and railing on the ledges. No one could—unless, of course, the fall had been intentional…

Just then, the school doors open, a dozen or so students filing out with vehemence and urgency. Some of the girls have tear tracks on their face, and many of them have their faces contorted into a look of frozen shock.

"Yamamoto!" a boy in front exclaims, and they all begin rushing to him. Gokudera and Tsuna watch them as they do, all of them talking and yelling as they gather around him.

"Don't do that again, geez!" a girl cries out. "Did you lose your mind?!"

Yamamoto, in the center of it all, just gives them all a stilted smile. "I wasn't thinking clearly. Sorry, guys!" He looks up. Tsuna meets his gaze.

She raises a very judgmental eyebrow, and she turns away.

:X:

"It's just a temporary bout of pain. It'll be gone in a few minutes. Or hours, give or take," Shamal supplies to Tsuna, who looks at him as though he was currently committing the most grievous act of sin. She scoots in the lumpy bed of the clinic, creating distance between them. "Stop looking at me like that. Has anyone ever told you that you look like a killer when you stare? God, I need a drink."

"One, I've always looked like this, and two, we're in a school filled with underage teenagers. Why would you drink?" Tsuna says flatly. "In fact, why are you here at all? Where's the actual doctor?"

"There wasn't an actual doctor," a squeaky voice pipes up, and Tsuna has to control her urge to scream as Reborn appears from above her and jumps on her bed. And through the ventilation system, of course. "So when Shamal applied for the job, he was hired immediately."

"And by no actual doctor you really meant you threatened the previous doctor to leave," Tsuna says, blunt. Reborn only smiles.

"Let me guess," Gokudera mutters angrily from his corner in the room, glaring daggers at Shamal, "you didn't include the fact that you've killed at least eighty men, and majority of the diseases your patients got came from you."

"Details." Shamal waves his hand, clearly unaffected by Gokudera's sour mood. "Besides, I needed a job. I'm still gonna have to observe little miss heiress here." He nods offhandedly to Tsuna's direction. "I don't know what you two are whining about. My presence actually benefits you. Sawada with her unfortunate disease and unfortunate breast size—"

"I'm thirteen," Tsuna says impatiently. "Is it even legal for him to say those things? In fact, is it even legal for you to come anywhere near me? You harassed me when I was your patient."

"You're not one to talk about legalities, Tsunayoshi," Reborn tells her, to which she gives an indignant huff.

"—and you, Hayato," Shamal continues as he looks at Gokudera and promptly ignores Tsuna. "That stunt you pulled that almost got her killed—that's a big no-no. I thought you better than that."

Tsuna raises her eyebrows in bemusement. She hadn't know that the two had a history together. Reborn, surprisingly, kept Shamal's origin and appearance to himself. Admittedly, Tsuna never asked.

"I have class," Gokudera then says coldly after a heated glare at the doctor. He doesn't even turn to acknowledge her as he storms out of the clinic.

"Pissy brat," Shamal grumbles, albeit dejectedly. His eyes turn to her. "And you. You just—just rest for, like, an hour or so. I have to attend to another patient. It's _male_ this time. I told them I don't treat males, but do they listen? Obviously, no, because this school—fuck it—" He mutters out the last few parts as he leaves Tsuna with Reborn.

The baby turns to her. "So," he casually starts, "what happened?"

"I should be asking you that question," Tsuna says, pondering on Gokudera and Shamal. She receives a sharp kick to the head. Tsuna looks at Reborn, clutching her head in her hands, fingers catching on the short tufts of hair. "Really? You had to do that?"

"You were being insubordinate," Reborn says matter-of-factly. Tsuna almost rolls her eyes, smoothly making an impassive face. "Now, what happened to you that merited a visit to the doctor?"

"A student fell on me," Tsuna says.

Reborn frowns. "You must be so weak to—"

"He fell from the roof," she cuts in flatly. "I was standing in the way of his blossoming love with the pavement."

Reborn snorts at that. "I assume that the cement lover is the exact same person on the other side of the curtain." He gestures to the white curtain that separates Tsuna's bed from the others.

"He's here?"

"Went through the other door." A pause. "Does he have a cast? He might not be the same person."

"Yeah." Tsuna shifts in the bed. "Black hair. Blue eyes. Tall." _Freakishly tall. And pretty fucking stupid._

"Hm." Reborn tilts his head and lets out a sharp exhale. "My statement still stands, you know. A mafia boss shouldn't be so weak from such a small impact."

Tsuna blinks, and she can't help but raise an eyebrow. "Reborn, you know that—"

"Yes, he fell from the rooftop and landed on you." He waves it off. "Point is, you're going to suffer worse, and to be honest, something as small as this sending you crying to the nurse?"

"I didn't cry—"

"Vongola will weep rivers of blood." Reborn 'tsk'ed at her and jumps off of her bed. "Out of pity, I will give you time to adjust. But training starts Saturday. My students have always been successes. You're not going to be my one failure."

Tsuna gives a huff. "Reborn, I—" she starts as she turns to look at him.

Fuck him, he's gone. Tsuna lies down into the bed and breathes in deeply. Training with Reborn doesn't really seem like such a bad idea. After being prone for 5 days and not doing much action since Uncle Kawahira left her—even when he had told her he was leaving two weeks ago, she kind of resented him for not even leaving a note that said goodbye when she went by his shop and found a sign in front that had exclaimed 'FOR SALE' in big bold letters—some training may do her some good.

"Sawada?"

She closes her eyes. Did Yamamoto hear their entire conversation? "Yamamoto," she says after much hesitation.

There is a short intake of breath. "What were you talking about? Um, with the…baby?"

She doesn't answer. What should she be answering anyway? That all that talk with Reborn was 'family business'? What kind of business requires someone to experience something worse than a human body falling on you from a hundred feet away? And what business calls the boss a _mafia boss?_

The _mafia,_ that's what _._

"I'm not allowed to ask questions, am I?" Yamamoto says tentatively.

Tsuna clicks her tongue. "Not really, no." Why did Reborn even talk about Vongola so openly anyway? He's kept it secret from her mother, but he doesn't seem to make it a point to hide it from her classmates. The only explainable reason would be that he wants to recruit—oh, that piece of _shit_.

"It's okay," Yamamoto says, and she hears the raspy sound of hair against fabric. Reborn can't be planning to recruit Yamamoto, can he? "I don't think I want to know anyway."

 _You really don't,_ Tsuna thinks. She burrows herself deeper in the bed, pulling the thin linen blanket over her body. She would still have to go back to class the next period, but the peacefulness of the clinic is something she welcomes after dealing with Gokudera, Reborn, and Shamal all at once.

"Sawada? Can I ask you a question?" Yamamoto quickly adds, "About your absence last week, not the conversation between you and the baby! I heard you were some kind of victim of terrorists before you were sent to the hospital."

"Terrorists?" Tsuna repeats, a little incredulously. Gokudera _can_ be considered a terrorist, in some situations, at least.

"There were explosions from the rooftop," Yamamoto explains helpfully. "And then there was a bright fire—I didn't see it myself, I just heard it from the other students. But there are still craters on the rooftop from the, uh, terrorists."

"There weren't any terrorists," Tsuna clarifies. "Just…" God, what the hell is she supposed to say? If Reborn actually plans on recruiting Yamamoto, she doesn't have to lie, but there's always a chance that she's wrong about his intentions. "Just a prank gone wrong," she finished. "Involves cherry bombs and chemicals from the lab. It wasn't supposed to go horribly wrong." Cherry bombs can't really make craters, but hopefully, Yamamoto will let that one slide.

"Ah." Yamamoto sounds dubious, but fortunately, he seems to let it go. "You were sent to the hospital. And you…had a haircut."

Tsuna touches her hair, soft but very, very short. She grabs a handful, and more than a few strands escape. "The bombs singed my hair. They had to cut it short."

"You don't have any burn scars, though."

Tsuna freezes. "I was just thrown from the impact. Hit my head, burnt my hair, inhaled some of the chemicals," she lies easily. "Sent to the hospital where I wasn't allowed to move for five days."

Yamamoto snorts. "At least you're still alive," he says lightly, and Tsuna knows that the words weigh more than he let on.

"Can I ask you a question?" Tsuna says.

There's a brief pause. "Sure."

"Why did you try to kill yourself?" Tsuna asks flatly.

Yamamoto makes a noise. "I—I wasn't trying to—you misunderstood the—" he sputters, and anyone can see how much of a horrible liar he was.

"Yamamoto," Tsuna says, "why?"

"…I was—" He gives a heavy sigh. "I was miserable. I didn't like my friends, I didn't enjoy my life. Baseball's all I have, and I can't even play in the semi-finals because of—" He makes a sound in the back of his throat "—and, yeah. I just don't think my life's worth living."

Tsuna doesn't even know what to say to that. All her life, after all, she's always had a motivation, a goal to reach. She's never thought of dying or wanting to die before reaching it. "It's just a broken arm," she says after a few moments of silence. "It heals. And there's always someone, or something, that you'll want to get back to. You don't want to die because you want to see them again." She turns over, so that she faces the curtain that divides her and Yamamoto. She can see his shadow, lying on the bed, body turned to the side. "You can't just give up just because you think there's no more hope left in you."

Vongola's still standing. That doesn't mean that Tsuna isn't doing the same.

Yamamoto is silent, before he says, "Thanks. I needed that." He pauses, as though he's hesitating to say any more. "Sawada? Can I ask you one more question?"

Tsuna's eyebrows furrow. "What?"

"Are you and Gokudera Hayato dating?"

Had Tsuna been a lesser person, she would be sputtering. "What?" she deadpans. "No! What made you think that?"

Yamamoto sounds sheepish. "Nothing, just. You just seem like you are."

Tsuna rolls on her back. She can only hope that no one else thinks the same.

:X:

Yamamoto doesn't quite know what's going on, but he does know that Sawada is pissed, to some degree.

Her hand is clenched to a fist, and it shakes by her side as she banters with the baby—Reborn? What kind of name is that?—and he knows that he's angry despite how impassive she looks. It's how his dad gets angry, with quiet words and a blank face paired with a clenched fist and rough voice.

They're in the school's baseball court, no one around except for them. He sits on the bench next to the new guy, Gokudera Hayato, who sneers at him as he lights a cigarette. Yamamoto gives him a grin, and Gokudera scoffs in reply.

"—you can't just involve everyone in your schemes, Reborn—"

"—he has potential—"

"—he doesn't even know what's going on—"

"—I'll explain everything if he passes—"

Gokudera blows smoke directly to his face. Yamamoto wrinkles his nose before waving his hand to clear the air. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't really know why he's out here in the first place. He only meant to have his lunch with Tsuna—and despite Gokudera being there, her company was a welcome respite—and, well…

"—Reborn—"

"—Dame-Tsuna—"

Sawada and the baby engage in the most intense staring competition that Yamamoto has ever seen in his life. He turns to Gokudera, who throws the cigarette butt on the ground and crushes it underneath his shoe. He's pretty sure that littering isn't allowed. In fact, _cigarettes_ aren't allowed.

"Do they do that a lot?" Yamamoto gestures to Sawada and Reborn.

"Shut the fuck up." Gokudera shakes out another stick out of his pack.

 _He's very mean,_ Yamamoto thinks as the other teen lights the end of the cigarette.

"—if he dies, it's on you—"

"—a mafia boss knows when to take the blame—"

"—this isn't one of them, Reborn, and you know it—"

"—it's a simple test—"

They argue more. Yamamoto finds it hard to keep up with their conversation. What test are they even talking about? He hadn't studied for anything. Oh, man, is he going to disappoint Sawada by failing? Hopefully, the test's sport-related. But then again, he's still wearing the cast—the doctors told him, however, that it can be removed in a week.

"Fine, since we've reached an impasse," Reborn says loudly, halting whatever Sawada was about to say, "you're going to have the test with him."

Sawada looks at him with a deadpan expression that didn't give Yamamoto much to think about, but the baby looks triumphant.

"I just got out of the hospital, Reborn," Sawada then interjects. "I don't really fancy going back in there."

Reborn waves her worries away, though Yamamoto was inclined to disagree with him. "You'll be fine," he says. "Gokudera won't do you any harm, though it would really be better if he lived, too. Less bodies to clean up afterward."

Yamamoto shoots a glance at Gokudera, who is now fiddling with his lighter, and says, "Wait, did he just say that I might die and you're gonna be the reason for it?"

Gokudera looks at him once and he blows smoke through the side of his mouth. "Yes," he says simply, which is the only straightforward answer that Yamamoto had gotten out of him since the beginning of lunch.

Quite frankly, Yamamoto is scared shitless. So he laughs, as he always did when he was nervous before a big game, or when he handled some of his dad's customers at the sushi bar and he blanked at making California rolls.

"See, Dame-Tsuna?" Reborn gestures to Yamamoto, who remains smiling. He feels beads of sweat roll down the nape of his neck. "He's all right with it; I don't see why you're getting so worked up about this."

Sawada slides her gaze to Yamamoto, and his grin turns much more forced. She narrows her eyes. "He's nervous," she states frankly.

"Details." Again, Reborn waves off Sawada's worries. "Gokudera," he then calls, motioning to him, who was still smoking a cigarette.

Gokudera jumps up to stand. "Yes, Reborn-san?" he says eagerly. He almost seemed like a dog or something. It's so unlike the taciturn Gokudera who barely answered any of Yamamoto's questions. _Rude._

"Ready your bombs," Reborn says, his voice filled with vigor. "Dame-Tsuna, Yamamoto…well, if you aren't fast runners, I can only hope you're good dodgers."

Sawada curses. A dynamite explodes just beside her, close enough to make her flinch but not enough to injure her.

 _Ah, shit,_ Yamamoto thinks, and he runs to her.

 **End of Chapter**

 **:X:**

 **A/N: I haven't updated for so long lmao what is happening I hate myself orz**


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